Nothing happened. The photographer's camera jammed. Then, unexpectedly, it went off. The toggie said: "That'll do." And, lo, next day, a sodden, startled rabbit stared out from the page. That byline pic was used for years.

All the other pictures were as bad. Sometimes, they'd shoot hundreds, and carefully select the worst. The only decent one, in a magazine, was taken in a public booth. So I'm not about to become a "lifelogger" - a growing band of people who take photographs of themselves every single day for posterity. Posterior, more like. Who'd make such an ass of themselves?